DECEMBER 2020 EVENT - PART 1

CHAPTER ONE, PART 1: A HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

Do you hear what I hear?

DECEMBER 5th | A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE | THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

DECEMBER 5th

Don’t you hate to be the last to know? Out of the windows of your brand new homes, you spot families trotting along in their happy, nuclear units. Stores and restaurants have closed early—on main street, where jingle bells hang from every door, the only souls to be seen are heading toward the town hall, where wreaths hang around the stone lions’ necks. A stage, awash in string lighting, has been erected with three chairs sitting empty behind a podium. Policemen with their smiles and baby-blues stand guard before it; they too are not allowed beyond the velvet ropes. Twenty feet tall—near to reaching the tip-top of the clock tower—a mass is hidden by black tarps. This is the most guarded of all, ringed by no less than twelve junior policemen standing vigil around the clock. At sundown, you start to see what’s to come. As the crowd swells, bundled in their coats and scarves, the ladies with silk scarves drawn around their perfectly coiffed hairstyles, three figures take to the stage:
Chief of Police, Dale Harding, who must constantly slip away and bend his ear to listen to one of his boys, giving orders with long sighs, firm words, and grumbles as he takes his seat again. Occasionally one sees a flash of silver moving from his lapel up to his lips, but surely that must only be his policeman’s badge that he kisses, because he loves his town so very, very much! The Happy Homes Association—or at least, their junior representative. Her bright and shining pin of office sits hidden behind the tremendous fruit basket poised upon her lap, where green and scarlet cellophane cannot quite hide the fruitcake inside the way it does her name. How does she keep her teeth so white and her lipstick so clean and red? Subscribe to their newsletter and read Cathy’s Cosmetic Can-Dos! column to find out!
Mayor Phillip Clarke—well, Phil to his friends. He takes his place at the podium, his top hat inky black, leather gloves oiled and bright, and draws all the town’s breathless attention. He taps the microphone. Once—the crowd inhales—twice—their eyes shine as they look up—three times— “Gooooood evening, Santa Rosita!” The crowd goes wild as Clarke bellows. Eventually, he raises both arms and gestures for them to quiet down. “I want to thank each and every one of you for coming out, especially on a school night!” Like the admonishing parent, he wags a knowing finger at several teens in the crowd. “Believe you me, on a night like this, I know how tempting it is to stay home and curl up on the couch with a good book. And,” he adds with a wink to a woman in the front of the crowd, “maybe some of Margie's famous hot chocolate.” Laughter ripples through the crowd. Again, Clarke patiently waits until they’re finished before continuing, “But that's exactly what makes our little town so special. No matter the time, every day of the week there's always someone out there who will sacrifice something for the better of the community. Be it the energy to get this terrific tree set up—” he gestures to the tree, “—the patience to string twenty yards of lights up—which, I might add, have been generously donated by our pals at Honeybees—or even just time.” Clarke’s tone turns solemn, but his face remains fixed in a winning smile. “Santa Rosita isn't just a town. It's a family. Each and every one of you out here tonight is a valued member. Even all you new faces out there!” He points to several newcomers in the crowd in what might almost be an accusatory manner if not for the smile on his face. “Don't think I can't see you! Tonight, you have become part of that family. Santa Rosita is your home now. It's through our traditions that we endure, and it's my sincerest wish that you, all of you, will join together with us and help us keep them alive for years to come.” The crowd applauds, everyone turning to face the new families. As Harding takes a swig from a flask he pulls out of his pocket and the HHA representative continues to beam at the audience with her too-white smile, Clarke fully turns to the tree and pumps his fist in the air, riling the crowd back up. “And now, without further ado, let's RING. IN. THE HOLIDAYS!”

As his words come to a close, at last the tarp is pulled away—revealing twenty feet of pure, polished, brilliant...

...aluminium christmas tree.

Quick as the busy bees they are, the Happy Homes Association is there to announce that you can buy both table-sized and home-use duplicates for your own homes! The cost is $8 for the little ones and $18.50 for the big trees—get your wallets ready!

As the crowd stampedes toward their own tiny and/or six-foot silver replicas, the three figures on the stage are hurried away. The HHA representative presents their gift basket to the Mayor. He kisses her on both cheeks, rubbing his belly in anticipation of the deliciousness to come, and hurries on. Chief Harding takes the rear, casting back a sour look, and before you have a chance to see if the three could answer any questions, the stage is empty again.

...well, get in line! You want those trees too, don’t you?

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A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE

The days are getting colder and the entire town seems to be getting into the holiday spirit, between the tree lighting ceremony and the decorations your neighbors are putting up. But something seems to want you to get into the Christmas spirit as well—you haven’t done anything out of the ordinary, but when you open the door, you’re met by a burst of frigid air carrying the scents of gingerbread and peppermint on it.

Stepping through the door, you are not in Santa Rosita any more.

Well, technically, you are; you’re just down by Rose Garden Park, before the Old Growth starts. But it’s not where you thought you were going, and it doesn’t resemble the normal streets of suburbia now. You’ve stepped into a charming Christmas village, packed with all sorts of fun winter activities and sights to see! The ground is covered in pure white snow that never seems to melt into slush, and the sounds of high, sweet jingle bells fill the air as a team of reindeer haul a sleigh past. Maybe that’s Santa’s sleigh they’re pulling?

As you walk into the village, a red pole demands your attention, placed in such a way that no one can miss it. A letter is attached to it:

’Twas the month before Christmas and all through the town
The people were smiling; there was nary a frown!
They entered my village, all brimming with cheer
And knew that quite soon, old St. Nick would be here
There's skating and snowmen and light shows galore
There's even a place to make wreaths for your door!
But somewhere inside there's a mailbox to find
And Santa may bring you what's most on your mind…
As the letter suggests, the village is full of hustle and bustle. Santa’s elves—Robbies decked out in red and green costumes with matching tights and jingle bell boots—are everywhere, making sure that there’s always plenty of holiday treats available for visitors to eat and drink. The nearby pond is iced over and the elf manning the ice skate exchange station seems to be able to guess your perfect size with a glance, while reindeer racing courses have been set up encircling the village. All of the buildings and many of the trees have been lined with lights, warm and bright, and there are stations set up where visitors can make garlands or wreaths to take back with them to the real world.

The real world? Yes, of course—that boring place with work and school and vacuuming! Though the door you initially walked through may have turned into a station for making gingerbread houses, you can hoof it back to your home in Shadyside at any time. The public library is just that way, past the baseball diamond! Any time you open a door, however, you run a risk of finding that it leads back to the village, where the elves are waiting to ensure you enjoy your visit. You can try to close the door and open it again, but who knows if your luck has changed?

The organizers of the village seem to be most insistent that you come and enjoy yourself—flyers are all around town, stuffed in your mailbox, and pinned on bulletin boards. Though some signs on lampposts seem as though they’ve been torn down in a huff, you still can spot them on Main Street: “Visit Santa Rosita’s Very Own Christmas Village!”

And visit it you will.

While the elves are happy to welcome visitors to their village, they also have to work. Christmas toys don’t build themselves, you know! The elves will point out Santa’s Workshop to you, where you can buy freshly made candy canes, charming ornaments for your new aluminum Christmas trees (you did buy one from the Happy Homes Association, didn’t you?), and other sundries and stocking stuffers. There’s even a German-style bar in the back serving hot chocolate and mulled wine—non-alcoholic, of course; this is a family event. Just outside of the workshop’s entrance is a mailbox, its post swirled red and white and wrapped in garlands. A small desk sits next to the mailbox with a stack of stationery, envelopes pre-addressed to Santa Claus at the North Pole, and pens on top.

At the top of the stationery, beside cutesy illustrations of hippos and children missing their front teeth, are the words, “What I want most for Christmas is…”

Why not write Santa a letter? What have you got to lose?

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THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

...to the annual Christmas gala, beginning at 4:00 pm sharp at Santa Rosita’s stately town hall! The invitation appears in your mailbox with just enough time for you to gather all your family and go shopping, because you certainly want to look your best. You simply must. The who’s who of the town will be there, all wearing their finest velvet dresses and shined black shoes. Be warned that the dress code will be strictly enforced by the Happy Home Association—only red and green allowed, or else it simply isn’t festive. Men in bright red or green suits - women sporting taffeta skirts in complementing shades - pinned corsages and matching handbags - no detail left untouched!

You wouldn’t want to be caught standing out from the crowd, would you? In the Mayor’s presence?

That might be a bad idea.

But the holidays do get the better of us sometimes, don’t they? The HHA understands, and if on the day of the party you have found yourself without a red or green garment, they have some loaners to wear. If you’ll simply follow Mrs. Jones down to the coat room, she can show you some options.

For the ladies (and female-presenting), they offer up beautiful green or red dresses as loaner. ”It matches the metal trees!” the coat clerk brightly tells you, her own dress as shimmery as they come.
For the gentlemen(ly presenting among you), fresh off the rack at the local Sears Roebuck department store, these fetching blazers are available, complete with matching trousers.

In front of you in line is someone who very clearly does not have the Christmas spirit flowing through them, judging by how they wish to argue with the HHA about these “loaner garments.” How rude! But don’t worry—when you see the once-irascible individual later by the punch bowl, there’s a glassy smile on their face and they’re decked out in jolly green and poppy red, happy as—well, a kid on Christmas morning.

Tables are laid out with food and drink aplenty. Even the sandwich loaf has made its effort to match the decor, as red poinsettias and holly berries dot the windows (careful children—they’re poisonous) and rich green pines occupy every corner. Move outside of the room and you’ll find nothing more than locked and darkened offices, with the occasional policemen and night guards shaking their fingers at you to go back and enjoy the party. This is a night to be merry and drink some mocktails, not to go through the filing!

Up by the fine wood paneling and brilliant metal tree stands the mayor himself. Looking dashing as Santa Claus, a cluster of parents flock nearby beaming as their child gets their photo taken with Mayor Clarke! That’s certainly going in the Christmas newsletter! Each of them has a little present—perfectly wrapped, just see Grandma’s Gift Wrapping Guide in this month’s HHA newsletter—to give to the Mayor for all his hard work this year.

You didn’t think that stack of presents by Santa’s chair was for him to pass out, did you?

Between music sets (graciously played by the Frederick Loren High School marching band), the Mayor stands—the hall falls silent, all the little cups and plates still in jolly hands. He has a speech to give you all, you fine citizens, faces old and new:

“Ho-ho-hi there, Santa Rosita! And how are we enjoying ourselves tonight? I see some of our new families were able to make it out tonight—is that Richard O’Reilly and the missus?” Using a hand to shade his eyes, Clarke squints into the throng of townspeople. “And Jim Astin with Lucy and little Susie! Wow. Isn’t that something?”

In the back of the room, Chief Harding pours himself a glass of punch, takes a sip, then reaches into his suit jacket for his flask.

“Now, in my house,” Clarke continues, “we have a rule not to open any presents until Christmas Day, but with all the ones I've gotten tonight, it's just too darn tempting.” Reaching down, he takes a box from the pile of gifts at his feet. “I think this one's a tackle box, and I'm pretty sure this—” he reaches down for another smaller box, “—is that electric razor I’ve had my eye on.” He shakes the box, chuckling, as the rest of the crowd joins him.

“But let's get serious for a moment.” Clarke’s expression turns thoughtful. “Although getting a truckload of Christmas presents is swell, do you want to know what the greatest gift you've given me is?” He pauses performatively, waiting for an answer from the crowd that never comes.

“The greatest gift you've all given me... is letting me serve you.”

In the back, Harding ditches the punch cup and just drinks straight from the flask.

“I'm honored to be here with you all tonight,” Clarke continues proudly, “just I am honored to be able to wake up every morning, look in the mirror and tell myself that I... am your mayor. Which is why I want to give something back to you. How many of you have already visited Santa's little village?”

There’s a round of cheering in the front of the audience from the many children in attendance with their parents. Clarke opens his arms wide.

“My idea! I decided that if I can't bring Santa Rosita to the North Pole, I'm going to bring the North Pole to Santa Rosita. Enjoy yourselves! Saint Nick's got a lot of work to do before Christmas. So be good, don’t pout, and for goodness sake—have fun!”

The clapping threatens to take down the garlands hung from chandeliers. ”A fine orator!” “Reminds me of the war, when we heard Churchill over the radio. Why, Clarke gives him a run for his money, ha ha ha!”

A delightful HHA elf comes to replenish the pickle tree on the appetizer table, and the covers of Bing Crosby carry you away into the night.

Remember to stay until 9:00 pm, when the Santa Rosita Children’s Choir will start caroling!

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OOC INFO

Welcome to the first part of the event! You can use this entry to top-level for the event, but feel free to use the log and network communities as well.

A few things to keep in mind: Firstly, there is no return portal back into town once your character is teleported into the Christmas village. They will have to walk back on foot or get lucky and catch a ride from a helpful citizen.

Secondly, please be mindful of how your character interacts with the setting. While characters are welcome to explore the town and ask questions, Santa Rosita is still a happy little suburb in the 1960s, where appearances matter and acting too out of line from commonly accepted societal norms can come with their own unique consequences. We do not intend to punish players for their curiosity, but be aware that the townsfolk may not be so understanding of wanton disrespect for their ways!

And thirdly, the NPCs will not be available for interactions. At the party, Harding will leave early and Clarke will leave to handle other business. Santa does have a schedule to keep, after all.

Any questions can go in our FAQ thread below. Try to check and see if your question has already been answered on the plotting thread first here.

Remember--Part 2 of this event is coming December 15th!

▶ NAVIGATION ◀
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OOC INFO	premise \| rules \| faq \| taken \| applications \| hiatus/drop/canon updates \| activity check \| reserves \| mod contact
SETTING INFO	calendar \| setting \| housing \| npcs \| death and tranquilizing \| event suggestions/engagements

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

i. CHRISTMAS TREES

Wrathion is no stranger to Winter Veil celebrations, but this... is supposedly not Winter Veil. It's... Christmas, although it feels very familiar to him. The same colours are favoured, styles of decoration. If he hadn't been told otherwise, he'd assume it was Winter Veil by appearances alone.

This... tree, though. Wrathion sits watching the ceremony with a frown as he studies the interplay between all the people here. Quite interesting, he thinks that they do not appear to be totally in harmony -- if the gentleman drinking is any indication.

There's a burst of applause, the tree is revealed, and as everyone gets up to rush to the queue Wrathion lingers back. His black leather jacket and loosely wrapped scarf are only just about keeping him tolerably warm, but mostly he appears to be eyeing the tree.

"Are these considered... Fashionable?"

There's a barely disguised note of disdain to the question, one that clearly communicates that he cannot imagine why they would be.

ii. CHRISTMAS VILLAGE

The teleportation is... irritating, and at first Wrathion wonders if he has escaped this place entirely at last. It's unfortunate to find the hasn't. Instead, he's simply in a colder part of Santa Rosita, and the light t-shirt under his leather jacket isn't cutting it. Zipping it up with a gentle tch of frustration Wrathion wades out into the crowds, curious enough to at least see what might be of interest here. He gravitates quickly toward the bar, buying some hot chocolate to try and keep his hands warm, then curiously explores the rest of the activities.

He pauses by the stand to watch people wreathing... garlands and wreaths of some sort, presumably for seasonal decoration. There's an art to it, he realises, and that piques his interest enough to have him stopping and setting down his drink to begin curiously twining. There's a careful confidence to his the movement of his hands that speaks of someone used to crafting (although, admittedly, his crafts are usually more... purposeful than decorative wreathes) and in a few minutes he stops and examines his finished product.

It has, perhaps, slightly less flourish than some of the examples the representatives have hung up -- but that's simply his own taste. The added tinsel on theirs is rather gaudy in his opinion. Almost as bad as the aluminium tree.

He now unfortunately has a wreath he hasn't much interest in.

Wrathion glances around, then looks to the closest person by him considering the stand.

"Perhaps I can save you some trouble," he offers, and holds out the one he made.

iii. SKATING -- CLOSED TO ANDUIN

Wrathion has, admittedly, never been ice skating in his life. He's simply been far too busy to indulge in these peculiar seasonal activities, and besides which -- skating is of no use to him. It is not a skill that would benefit him, a dragon. Were he to encounter ice, he could simply melt it or fly over it!

Currently, he can do neither.

The enthusiastic people by the rink have talked Wrathion into putting on a pair of skates and getting onto the ice. Currently, he is holding onto the edge with a vice-like grip and trying to balance. They are, repeatedly, trying to encourage him to let go.

"I will do so when I am ready," he snaps back, and tries to move a little once more. It is... more difficult than it looks to balance. Wrathion instantly realises this was a mistake -- he's cold, his muscles are tense enough that he's already aching, and worst of all he's risking embarrassing himself thanks to pushy people dressed poorly as some sort of elf.

Glancing up and across the ice Wrathion pauses suddenly, eyes catching on a flash of blond hair and broad shoulders. Then blue eyes.

Wrathion forgets how to breathe.

Then, how to balance.

He wobbles, flails out his hands and grips the boarding around the ice rink as his feet escape out from under him. There's a bright, tinkling peel of laughter from the elves and Wrathion's fluster turns to irritation as he scrabbles to get his balance back.

"Yes, very funny," he snaps, and his eyes shoot nervously back to Anduin.

iv. THE MAYOR'S GALA

Some of the garments on display are, in Wrathion's opinion, absolutely terrible.

He's barely managed to escape scrutiny in his red and black suit, which has far more colour than he'd like but beggars can't be choosers. The black waistcoat goes some way to making it tolerable, but he misses having his own clothing, and he misses being more often around tolerable people.

He lingers by the drinks, sipping sadly non-alcoholic punch and trying to strike up casual conversation every now and then.

"Chief Harding seems rather tired tonight," he prompts carefully of the newest person to duck in beside him. He lifts newly-hazel eyes up to his companion and offers a wry smile. "I wonder if he's simply exhausted from enjoying the seasonal celebrations too much."

It isn't that at all, but you can't just open with suggesting someone is drinking due to how dire the whole thing is.

The novelty of the Christmas village is quick to wear off in Anduin's opinion, though at least this time he's appropriately dressed for the cold. Last time he had opened a door and wound up in this place in his pajamas — that had been one very hasty (and freezing) retreat.

Still Anduin can't resist the urge to don the ice skates when he sees the rink the people have set up. It brings back memories of Winter Veil, of the occasional brief times he'd been able to spend with his father, throwing snow at each other and having a laugh before duty swiftly caught up with them. Anduin isn't an expert at ice skating but he soon enough finds his balance on the ice, slowly making circles around the rink with the rest of the crowd as he takes a few moments to clear his mind. New place, strange people, a mayor who claims to be in charge. Everything is bizarre but he's not the only one stuck in this; there are others too who hail from other worlds. Whatever is at work here is immensely powerful and Anduin knows that right now fretting isn't going to help him. A nice clear mind will bring answers and clarity on things —

I will do so when I am ready. Anduin knows that voice, instantly snapping out of this thoughts to look over in the direction it came from. Blue eyes widen as he spots Wrathion. So people from his own world were here too? The rush of emotion is an almost overwhelming mixture; relief that someone familiar is here, but also a sense of wariness. Of all the beings, it was the one Anduin was most unsure about.

The young king of Stormwind skates over. He should extend the hand of friendship, should offer to help Wrathion find his feet upon the ice rather than looking like a newborn fawn taking it's first steps.

"Wrathion.....?"

Anduin would offer a hand but now he's here he can see the emotion on Wrathion's face. Actual emotion in his eyes and the priest bites back the surprise at the fact that said eyes are no longer a red glow. No wonder he can see the irritation. Perhaps offering help will not go down so well.....

"I don't believe their amusement is malicious."

Wrathion hauls himself up, irritation slowly fading into a wild mix of confusion and anxiety clear as he watches the other man approach.

Anduin Wrynn is here.

Anduin Wrynn is here, in this place. This place that he awoke after being in Ny'alotha. He shouldn't be here -- of course, Wrathion shouldn't be either but the implications are making his heart race. What could it mean? Why would he be sucked in to whatever place this is as well? Has something happened to Stormwind? Has the Black Empire truly tightened their grip on Azeroth as a whole?

"Anduin," he says, a little breathless from both the struggle on the ice and the surge of adrenaline. "I... did not expect to see you."

Honesty, if a little wary. What if this is a trick? Some game being played, to lure him into letting down his guard. He grips the boarding tighter, as if to brace himself against the potential.

It's definitely Wrathion. There had been the small, nagging feeling that it could be a trap but there's no reason for it, no logic behind such a thing. This could still be an N'Zoth induced dream but something about that doesn't feel right, though Anduin can't put a finger on why.

"Nor did I expect to see you." Truly. Anduin would have been shocked at anyone from Azeroth arriving, but Wrathion being here? It's leaning on the side of problematic if only because of timing. The last Anduin knew, the black dragon had gone to take on N'Zoth with the champion. If he's here now then who's back home? It's all a bit hazy on the details with things such as that and Anduin has found that asking too many questions out loud raises too many eyebrows.

Anduin folds his arms, seemingly at ease on the ice for now. As to how long that will last is anyone's guess.

"Meeting under better circumstances would have be more preferable." Even if Anduin had punched the other during what could have been better times. Anduin still isn't sure if he's sorry over that one or not; he could easily handwave it and say it was N'Zoth's influence but the priest isn't too sure it was entirely the Old God's doing.

"Have you been at this... ice rink long?" Anduin is all too aware that the nearby group are watching. It feels like a lot of people are keeping an eye on those who have recently arrived.

"Not long."

He hesitates, eyes flitting around uneasily.

"I... had some work to finish, but it seems this Christmas village is so entirely irresistible I am unable to return to it."

He really wishes he could, whatever this is -- whatever twisted game is being played Wrathion objects entirely. He has no time for it, no time to rest at all. Azeroth depends on him, and he isn't about to let people down again.

He'd also like to escape the ice skating. Apparently they're stuck having the conversation here, however, and he's far too proud to admit he doesn't think he can let go of the side without falling over.

Message received. Anduin knows he's in the same boat when it comes to timing and despite the inability to hold a frank conversation, he can at least assume they are from the same time. Otherwise the implications are even more worrisome in this place. Wrathion gets a small, thoughtful nod.

"It is a very clever village and a sight to behold." Not that Anduin wants to behold anything in this strange world he's found himself in. Everything is strange and there's been no sign of an exit so far. If Wrathion is here then it also means that the exit is all the more elusive — if there's one thing the dragon is good at in Anduin's opinion, it's making a hasty exit.

"The timing of this event could have been bette — !" Anduin abruptly cuts off as his feet try to escape out from underneath him. It's only a split second but enough to have the young King flail once before finding his center of gravity again. Ice, always a fickle thing, there was a reason why Jaina preferred it. "... Could have been better."

Ah.

Anduin wobbles, and for a second Wrathion's eyes widen and his body language manages to tense further -- leaning slightly forward as if he's preparing to bolt out onto the ice to help. How much help he'd be, Titans only know. More likely than not they'd simple tumble down onto the ice together, but perhaps he'd at least help break the young king's fall?

Luckily for both of them, he doesn't have to try.

Anduin settles himself, and Wrathion relaxes a little before offering a slow smile. It is, after all, reassuring to watch someone else struggle. All the locals appear to be perfect ice skaters, frustratingly.

"Perhaps we might do better to discuss this... off the ice?"

Even better, away from everyone else if they can manage it.

Ice hurts, Anduin remembers that from a time when he'd learned to skate. Every time he'd fallen down it had felt as if he'd broken something but his father had been there to not only lend a hand but give some kind of a talk on always getting back up.

He'd rather not fall over right now and break an arm, Anduin has no idea what the healthcare in this place is like and his healing spells are.... well, it's not a good thought.

"It would be better however I believe we can hold a conversation as we skate." No-one would listen in with two people skating? It makes sense to Anduin, though maybe a part of him wants to see Wrathion flailing about for once.

As they skate?

Wrathion looks... hesitant at that, uncertainty flitting over his expression as holds onto the siding.

"The ice seems quite busy," he comments, hoping that might get him out of this. "I hardly think we'll have any privacy."

So clearly they should leave? Clearly they should leave the ice, before he falls over again, and have this discussion on the safe non-slippery ground. Yes? Yes.

CHAPTER ONE, PART 1: A HOLLY JOLLY HOLIDAY

Do you hear what I hear?

DECEMBER 5th

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A MYSTERIOUS VILLAGE

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THE MAYOR HAS INVITED YOU...

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OOC INFO

Wrathion | World of Warcraft

skating~

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Christmas Trees

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( the mayor's gala. )

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Oh.... notifs would have been nice?

dw's inbox system: no notifs!! only mindreading!!!

UNFORTUNATE